


a smell that is loathesome to some is sweet to others

by techieturnover



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Humor, Idiots in Love, Literary References, London Era (Black Sails), M/M, Meditations is a Serious Book and Not A Joke, PWP, i suppose is the tag for that, in which Thomas Hamilton says No No Shame, questionably anatomically correct sex acts, stupid jokes, tooth rotting amounts of fluff, which stands for Porn With Preposterousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/techieturnover/pseuds/techieturnover
Summary: “Are you angry with him whose armpits stink? Are you angry with him whose mouth smells foul? What good will this anger do you? He has such a mouth, he has such armpits-”“Thomas that can’t possibly be in the book.”----Meditations is a serious book, with a serious message, and Thomas is seriously determined to prove it.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67





	a smell that is loathesome to some is sweet to others

**Author's Note:**

> Ever wonder what happens when a switch tries to write porn?
> 
> This was sort of meant to be a continuation of the scene in James' bedroom but then I got distracted.

Thomas leans back against the hard wood of James’ headboard and the pillows stacked against it, shifting so that his toes press and curl against James’ back. James has elected to sit at the foot of the bed so Thomas decides it’s only fair. He’s too far away for anything else, and how can Thomas be expected not to _touch_ , now that he’s able? James gives a disgruntled cry, mumbling about the temperature of Thomas’ appendage, but doesn’t move away. In fact, Thomas is certain he feels James lean into the touch just slightly.

Grinning down at the next passage, he begins reading again.

“Are you angry with him whose armpits stink? Are you angry with him whose mouth smells foul? What good will this anger do you? He has such a mouth, he has such armpits-”

“Thomas that can’t possibly be in the book.”

“It is,” Thomas replies with delight, noting the wonderful flush that travels from James’ face down his neck. “Here,” he insists as he sits up. Shuffling until he is behind James he wraps himself around his lover and rests his chin on James’ shoulder. James is wider than Thomas by a margin but his long limbs serve useful, because Thomas can still hold the well used copy of Meditations open in this position when James leans back against him.

It’s still new - the ability to do this - and every time James does not shy away from these affectionate touches something grows deeper within Thomas, some well of affection he had thought could not possibly run deeper, yet every time it finds a way. 

He indulges himself by pressing a lingering kiss to the side of James’ neck before returning to his task. In this position both he and James can see the passage as it is written and he traces along the lines as he reads them, as one might a child who needed guidance with the words.

Not two words into the second sentence his dictation is interrupted by James dissolving into laughter in his arms. Helpless to do otherwise, Thomas follows suit and the book falls closed in his hand. He sets it aside in favor of pulling James snugly against him - shifting his legs from the cramped cross-legged position he had assumed before and wrapping them around James’ waist, hooking his feet under James’ calves.

James’ laughter eventually quiets, with one last exhale of air through his nose. 

“And this is the life-altering philosophical text you wanted to show me?” 

“He has a point - if you’d let me finish,” Thomas argues. 

“What point could you possibly draw from poor hygiene?”

He does, in fact, have a point in reading this particular text to James, but he knows if he says it outright James will resist the message. Almost as stubborn as Thomas, James still seems to hold onto some sense of wrongness in this. In their relationship progressing far, far past friendship. Thomas can feel it in the way he is slightly tense, even when they are alone. Even now, tension lurks in James’ shoulders, always on guard for a rebuff that isn’t coming. Not from Thomas and if Thomas can help it, not from anyone else either. If he could just get James to _relax_.

In a burst of inspiration an idea comes to him and he has to bite the inside of his lip to suppress the mirth that will give him away. 

Thomas presses his face into the crook of James’ neck, and uses the proximity to place a tiny love bite to the skin there. “The point is, James - ” he begins, when he’s certain he can do so without breaking into laughter again. He creeps his hands up James’ chest slowly, feigning caress. “Do your armpits stink?” he asks, tone serious at the same time that he lets his fingers skitter over the sensitive skin on James’ sides. The sudden exclamation from his lover is delightfully rewarding as he struggles against Thomas’ grip in an attempt to escape. His thighs grip James’ middle, preventing escape as his hands travel feather light under pecs and across James’ stomach to where Thomas knows he’s most ticklish. 

“Thomas! Fuck! Stop - ” James gasps as he squirms until he is finally able to wrestle an arm free. Thomas isn’t sure how it happens, but as soon as he feels James’ arm slipping he finds himself flat on his back, thoroughly pinned to the bed. His shirt sleeves bunch around his shoulders and arms, adding to the feeling of being thoroughly bound and Thomas shivers at the sensation. James is still gasping, body strung tight and close enough that Thomas feels the warm air hit him on each exhale. Can feel the heat all the way down his body as James holds him down. The flush from before has traveled the entire length of him, and suddenly Thomas finds himself beset by an entirely different emotion than mirth. When he looks back up into James’ face there is a sharp challenge there - exasperation and fondness, and something harder Thomas has yet to name but has seen the remnants of, melting into one. 

“You bloody bastard - ” but there’s nothing but breathlessness to it and Thomas can’t help but rise to the challenge. 

He lets his chin tilt upwards before he surges, catching hold of James’ bottom lip between his teeth in the kiss that follows. He can’t maintain the position for long - James still has his arms pinned - but he manages long enough to feel the hold go slack as James returns the kiss. Seizing the opportunity he slips one of his arms out and James tilts to one side as his support shifts. Thomas wraps his free arm around James’ shoulders, bringing him down fully as he himself collapses back on the bed. The sensation of having James pressed fully against him threatens to overtake his senses, warm and heavy and hard and yielding all at once. He fights the sensation, stubbornly pushing it back. He pulls back just enough that their mouths are touching but not sealed together, drawing in to let his tongue slip between James’ teeth briefly. 

“Hmm...Not a foul smell but he certainly has a foul mouth,” he teases, and James presses him further into the mattress.

“Do you never run out of words?” The sharp words are peppered between fervent kisses and Thomas revels in the sensations. James’ mouth travels to his jaw, dropping hot, open mouthed kisses wherever it lands. Thomas groans and arches up into them as heat spirals through him, coiling tight in his groin. James’ legs slip out from under him as their cocks rub together. 

“Fuck, Thomas - ” 

Thomas laughs, gasping.

“That’s the general idea, yes.” 

James grinds their hips together, biting sharply at his jaw in retaliation and sending another wave of _want_ through him that punches the air out of his lungs. For a few moments he allows the feeling to run rampant through him. It is sharp and desperate and _so good_ he feels like he’s melting. 

One hand tangles under the queue at the nape of James’ neck while he lets the other roam freely over the expanse of that muscled back, nails running bluntly over the skin. Thomas imagines he can feel each beautiful patch of freckles that cover them. It’s a dizzying thought. James moans against Thomas’ breastbone and shifts again, bunching thomas’ shirt further up around his shoulders and bringing into sharp relief the last barrier between them. 

Thomas had donned the shirt against the chilly autumn air but now it seems an impossible encumbrance to being as close to James as possible. He pushes at James’ shoulder.

“Up.”

“What?” 

Maneuvering to lean on an elbow he starts shrugging the shirt off the other arm.

“Help me get this off.” 

“Oh.” 

James rolls to the side to allow Thomas to sit up completely, his gaze heavy and his breathing labored. Thomas revels in the weight of that gaze. In knowing that James feels the same all encompassing need he does to look and touch and feel. He makes sure to let the muscles in his chest and shoulders flex as they’re revealed and the barely audible intake of breath from James is worth the effort. Vanity isn’t a trait he ascribes to but, with James watching him, he’s finding more and more reasons to be grateful that he hasn’t allowed himself to fall to laziness.

James has risen to sit on the bed, one leg folded under him and the other raised, angled out as he watches Thomas, stroking his cock slowly. The sight is utterly breathtaking, but with a hint of the absurd that makes Thomas laugh. James raises an eyebrow but doesn’t stop the languid strokes as Thomas crawls within touching distance again. 

No doubt James is expecting him to sit in the open space of his legs - and Thomas thinks about it - but instead he kneels and reaches to untie the queue that holds James’ hair. Thomas combs his fingers through the auburn locks, separating and smoothing out the well trained strands.

Starting at the bottom as Miranda has shown him once, he carefully traces through any tangles he finds until he’s reached the roots. James’ hair is soft and even in the dim light from the window it gleams when the light touches it. He lets his nails scratch lightly at James’ scalp as he gathers the hair. A soft, small noise breaks free from James’ throat that has Thomas repeating the action, gently caressing and digging in, in turns. He takes his time, letting his own arousal thrum slowly though him as James leans his head against Thomas’ stomach, stroking himself and occasionally letting out another of those pleased whimpers. In the otherwise silent room, the soft noises threaten to undo Thomas completely.

When he’s sifted through James' hair enough that he meets no resistance gathers the strands one last time and pulls lightly, causing James to lean back and lift his head. Their eyes meet, and there is a particular hazy softness to James’ gaze that shakes Thomas to his core. Love feels so insignificant a word for the privilege he feels at being allowed to see this. To be the cause of this. James is pliant in his hands now, and Thomas wants so badly to give him everything.

Thomas leans in, over, pushing James to lay back as Thomas straddles his hips. He lets his hands make their way across James’ chest, fingers pressing into the soft, dense patch of hair that occupies the center before letting them drift outward. He traces the curve of the muscle, pressing against the hardened peaks of James’ nipples when he reaches them. 

James’ hand comes up to grip Thomas’ arm and the press of fingers is almost painful as he gasps and arches into Thomas’ touch, head tilting back to reveal the ever tempting column of his throat. Using a thumb to trace the hollow, Thomas presses lightly until he can feel James’ pulse, beating wildly. Thomas has to remind himself to breathe and not simply stare awestruck at the sight of James like this. He grinds their hips together once, twice, desperate for some small measure of relief. 

Stretched out below him, James is absolutely captivating- skin flushed as his hair fans out around his head and shoulders. The hand not gripping Thomas’ arm is thrown above his head as he tries desperately to get more leverage. With the next thrust Thomas purposely aligns himself so that the head of his cock traces hot and slick along James’, and he can’t help giving another quick thrust when James’ mouth falls open on an obscene cry. 

Thomas leans down intending to stop - to tease James a bit before giving him what he’s asking for, but James’ hands come to land on the backs of his thighs, fingers grasping the inside of the muscle, pressing at the soft, sensitive skin there. Thomas tilts forward with the shock of it and meets James in a desperate kiss.

The hands on his thighs moved up to grip his arse. He let his legs slide further apart, rocking into the firm grip as the fingers move closer to his hole. A wave of want rushes through him strong enough to make him dizzy as one of them brushes against the sensitive skin behind his balls. One of the fingers slips just inside him, nudging past the ring of muscle in its searching and Thomas has to drop his head to James’ shoulder.

“Christ, James.” It’s little more than a breathy whisper, the only thing he can push past the overwhelming thought of _more_.

James laughs. Laughs, and presses the finger deeper and Thomas’ breath leaves his body. He has to focus on gnawing at James’ collarbone to draw enough breath to speak - and ignore the way that draws a short moan from James. 

“What?”

“That was what, five minutes without a word from you? That’s a record isn’t it?” James is still working the finger inside him, just enough to put Thomas at a conversational disadvantage. He evens the playing field by descending on the junction of James’ jaw, nipping and sucking at the skin in rhythm with James’ probing finger. When he’s got James moaning and arching into him again he finds the strength to speak through sheer force of will.

“I think you’ll find I was otherwise occupied.” 

“Feel free to keep yourself busy.” James replies, moving the hand not currently up Thomas’ arse to his side, rubbing aimlessly in time with the deepening thrusts. Thomas sits up, supporting himself with his hands on James’ chest and thrusts back onto James’ hand, pushing him fully inside.

 _So fucking good_. The thick digits convulse inside him, pushing deeper and crooking to help him reach his pleasure again and making stars explode behind his eyes. He can feel his cock leaking between them and, God, he wants more. He always wants more of James.

Underneath the haze of thrusting back and chasing his own pleasure he hears James’ voice, high and needy, and as wrecked as Thomas feels. “Fuck, _Thomas_.”

“Again, it’s on offer,” he manages between gasps as he finds the right angle again. He's getting close - just a little more and - 

His plans are thwarted when he feels James’ lovely, wonderful, _perfect_ fingers withdraw from inside him.

“No, I want - christ.” James’ back arches again and he spreads his legs, thumb and fingers caressing the seam of Thomas’ hip. Balancing on his knees, Thomas places his hand over James’, guiding it to wrap around his cock. 

“What do you want, James?” He encourages James to tighten his fist, groaning at the pleasure the motion brings. James’ palm is hot and slick with sweat and precum, and it feels - _God_ it's addictive. 

No less addictive than the glassy look in James’ eyes as he stares up at Thomas, desire obvious in every line of his body. 

“I want you to fuck me.” The words send a shudder through him as James gives the head of his cock a purposeful squeeze. 

Thomas has to pull away, forcing himself back from the edge he’s teetering on. Instead he reaches for the pot of oil that has taken to living on the bedside drawer and when he returns, nudges James’ legs apart further so that he can kneel between them. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” he proposes, carefully removing some of the oil. He circles the head of James’ cock with his slickened fingers, tracing down the length of it and momentarily fondling the tight sack at its base. A punched gasp drops from James’ lips and he leans forward, balancing on one arm so he can hover over James. “I’ll happily fuck you - ” he circles the ring of muscle around James’ arsehole, wetting and smoothing the entrance thoroughly. “As long as you put your fingers back in my arse.” And pushes his finger in to the last knuckle. 

James arches and cries out, cursing as he pushes back against the finger Thomas has inside him. “Christ, Thomas.” 

Thomas gets distracted, for a bit, pushing in and pulling out of James’ ass. The familiar heat, the sound James makes when he finds just the right angle. When he adds a second finger and thrusts them both all the way in, James’ cock jumps, droplets of precum falling onto his stomach as he whines. 

James pushes back against him, pleading for _more, please, Thomas - I’m so close, please_ and meeting Thomas’ fingers in desperate half-thrusts that Thomas knows signal just how close he is. He leans up to kiss that beautiful, panting mouth, removing his fingers from James and reaching again for the pot. 

“Do we have a deal?” he asks, taking two of James’ fingers within his own. 

“What?” James’ hips are still thrusting back in small movements, like he’s trying to get the sensation of Thomas’ fingers inside him back through sheer force of will. It makes the absolute confusion in his voice all the more endearing. 

“My cock for your fingers,” he clarifies as he slides their hands together, transferring the oil between them. 

“Oh...” James’ throat clicks as he struggles to swallow. “Yes - fuck. _Yes_ , just - ” 

James reaches for him and there’s some maneuvering Thomas has to do, lifting James’ hips so that he can reach back underneath himself and between Thomas’ legs. When they finally find the right angle and James’ fingers breech the ring of muscle again, it takes most of Thomas’ concentration not to just fuck himself on them. And truthfully, if the thought of being inside James wasn’t such an enticing one he would have been happy with that end. 

As it is, though, he guides his cock inside James, pushing past the tight ring of muscle and groaning as he finally sinks into the tight heat of James’ ass. James’ fingers curl inside him as he bears down on Thomas’ cock in a well practiced motion. By now, James is well versed in the skill of letting Thomas inside of him. The dual sensations rip another groan from him. He can’t stop the sounds that feel like they are pulled from his very soul. Finally fully seated, with the added pressure of the fingers inside him, Thomas feels like he’s floating, so close and just on the edge of falling. 

“Christ, this isn’t going to take long,” he admits, laughing when James lets out a huff of agreement in lieu of words. 

He pulls back just far enough to get leverage before thrusting back in, and it only takes him a few tries to find the angle that allows James’ fingers to still reach his prostate and for his cock to hit James’. Every time he does James’ fingers curl and convulse inside of him and it’s a deliriously heady experience, being fucked by and fucking James all at once. 

James seems to be having a similar experience, if the litany of groans and gasps coming from him is anything to judge by. 

“Fuck - _Thomas_ , Jesus Christ - ” 

“There’s that - fuck - foul mouth again, oh - ” James slams his hips back, pushing Thomas even deeper as his fingers push and curl _hard_ , and Thomas' orgasm is ripped out of him in a way he’s never experienced before. He is vaguely aware of the way James convulses as he grinds off into him, the tell-tale last erratic thrusts before his body tenses and cum spills from his cock, painting his stomach and chest. The sight pulls the last bit of pleasure from Thomas, punching the breath out of his lungs as his hips give one last desperate push of his softening cock inside of James. 

They stay frozen like that for a moment before Thomas’ body gives out and he collapses on top of James - fingers and cock slipping out of bodies as he crawls up to kiss James, pulse thundering and breaths coming ragged. 

There’s nothing he can say in the moment - nothing James is prepared to hear yet - so instead he says the words he feels with kisses, with the hand he brushes through the sweat-slick hair at James’ temple, with the way he can feel James’ heartbeat so close to his. He buries his head against James’ neck, allowing the exhaustion he feels to fully overtake him and to just breath in the scent of them. To surrender himself to this feeling. 

James’ arms envelop him, hands coming to rest lightly on his back and it is - it is everything Thomas has ever wanted, laying here with James. 

They stay like that until they’ve both caught their breath, until the heat of sex has dissipated into the heat of heady exhaustion - until Thomas feels like his body and mind have once again reconnected. 

When he finally gathers the strength to move, Thomas nudges James onto his side and rolls off of him. This way, he can slot himself in behind James, draping an arm around him and pushing his leg through James’. He can hook his foot around James’ calf to pull their bodies together from head to foot. 

“No tickling this time,” James murmurs, pulling Thomas’ arms tight around him. Thomas grins against the back of the other man’s neck, smoothing out mussed hair with his cheek as he settles. 

“No promises.” 

They lay that way for a while as the air dries their sweat-slick skin. They’ll have to get up eventually to clean but for now Thomas drifts in the hazy contentment of having James close. 

“Thomas?” 

His name rouses him from the half-sleep he’d been slipping into and he hums an answer, not yet willing to expend the energy for anything more. 

“You said there was a point you wanted to prove with that passage. What was it?” 

It’s a simple question, and Thomas doesn't think that it should make love burst in his chest the way it does, but James’ insatiable curiosity matches his own in a way he’s never known to be missing until now. He can’t deny the urge to laugh a bit, briefly pulling James even closer before turning over on his back. James follows, shifting so he’s facing Thomas, his head pillowed on Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas lets the hand around James wander aimlessly over the beautifully freckled skin of his back and side. 

“In the full passage, Aurelius says to confront those who offend you with compassion - that we should never discount the outcome that they could change their mind when presented with a differing opinion.” He pauses, choosing the next words carefully. “Of course, the outcome could be that they continue to disagree. But then, at least you have addressed it and not let the irritation fester. From there, it is easier to move forward, knowing at least that you stand with a difference of opinion.” 

He pauses, lets James think about all he’s said. Thomas wants so badly to clear the unease and worry from him. To take every experience that has made James wary of loving as he was made to and not just throw it away - Thomas wants to vanish it completely. Make it so the shame James carries around never existed to weigh him down in the first place. 

“And if the difference of opinion is something too large to overcome?” 

And again, Thomas has to smile, wants to kiss his love for how quickly he can pick up on the thread Thomas has spooled out. 

“Then you let it go. If there is a difference that cannot be resolved, then it is of no use to either party to continue arguing with no hope of resolution. Letting the anger sit festering trying to see the other’s point. You cannot change everyone’s minds. And even as we might try, we have to accept that there are those who will always disagree with us. But we cannot let their anger and judgement cloud our own visions of ourselves or our opinions. We must let them be, as we hope they will let us be.” 

“Even if we know they won’t?” 

Thomas thinks of everything they’ve discussed in the months they’ve known each other. The pirates of Nassau, society and how it bends men’s wills to it or casts them out. Calls them monsters or madmen and how he knows similar things are said of him. 

“Especially then. Doesn’t Aurelius also tell us that a man’s anger is no one’s duty but his own? That each is responsible only for his own feelings?” 

James is silent as he ponders, fingers absentmindedly drawing lines and shapes on Thomas’ stomach as he thinks. Thomas tries to decipher them, wants to know how they might fit into the thoughts coursing through his love’s mind, but before he can James speaks again. Slowly, as if he’s pulling each word out from some place they do not want to leave. 

“So - in this scenario - are you saying I shouldn’t mind that the world thinks poorly of me because I’ve got stenchy armpits and a penchant for a cock up my arse?” 

Thomas laughs, shocked and pleased. He rolls half on top of James to rub his nose into the crook of James’ arm, nuzzling the sweat slick skin. James gives a distressed cry but can’t escape from underneath him. 

“Well, I don’t think they smell all that unpleasant,” he says decisively after a dramatic sniff. “And as for the second point -” 

Thomas leans up, casting a leg over James to rest fully on top of him as he presses their foreheads together. “I’m rather fond of that particular preference of yours.” The kiss he leans into is soft, slow, and he feels James breathe out into it, body shifting into the mattress as Thomas presses him down. 

When they break apart Thomas moves only far enough away that he can look into James’ eyes. 

“It may not feel like it, but we don’t need the world’s approval for this to be real. We can exist here, between the spaces they claim, and still be just as happy.” 

He’s delighted to see James’ eyes soften as his throat works against an emotion he cannot yet say out loud. The wall hasn’t come down yet, but Thomas sees the blow he’s struck. It will be a long siege, he knows, against a battlement that has been built over a lifetime. 

Thomas thinks of the _Illiad_. How it took ten years for the ancient city of Troy to fall. How Penelope waited another ten for Odysseus to return to her. He kisses James again and makes the kiss a promise. 

_However long it takes you, I will be here._

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely blame yourgaydads for this fic as it came out of the same conversation as their [wonderful comic](https://yourgaydads.tumblr.com/post/624897342995300353/yourgaydads-yeah-i-didnt-think-this-one-out). also I looked up a bunch of smell quotes trying to come up with a title and made myself very sad. Join me on tumblr @im-the-punk-who for uhhhhh just as many feelings but slightly less porn


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